


The Dog Sitter

by wolfeylover



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, Mentions of PTSD, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, minor dog injury, pretty much no other characters show up, reader gets kidnapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfeylover/pseuds/wolfeylover
Summary: Moving to New York was simultaneously the best and worst decision you had ever made. On the one hand you lived in an apartment where the wallpaper was falling off the walls and music played through the walls through all hours of the night. On the other hand you met your incredibly handsome neighbor and his energetic pit bull. Your comfortable daily routine isn't safe though, and soon you'll have to face the truth about the man next door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My proudest achievement. Enjoy the story and expect a long build up.

You thought that moving into New York would be more glamorous, but when you opened the door to your new apartment you quickly relearned how the real world worked. At least an inch of grime covered the entire apartment and when you looked into the bathroom you knew you’d be cleaning for at least a week.

“Are the walls supposed to be green?”

“Sure. Why not.” The old war veteran who owns the building shoves your new key into your hand and then disappears down the hall into his own apartment. You listen to the sound of the door closing reverberated through the hall. When the sound dies away completely you return to your apartment and take a second look around.

It still looks just as shitty. 

You cross the room to the closed blinds and pull on the string so that you can see outside. As you expected you’re looking at a brick wall. Below you is the alley way with a door that leads into some shady looking pawn shop. You let out a deep sigh, but turn from the window. Your thoughts fill with determination and you vow to turn this small apartment around. You may not be able to do much about the view, but you can at least make yourself comfortable. It takes you several hours to move all of your stuff from your car to the apartment and you spend another two hours scrubbing every inch of the apartment that you can reach. It’s dark outside when you finally let the toilet seat drop down. Your hair is out of place and a permanent layer of sweat covers your skin, but when you look around the now respectably clean apartment, you’re pleased.

You’re meager amount of furniture is spaced evenly around the two room apartment and your bed is set up with your clean sheets. With the lights on the place almost looked respectable. Maybe someday you’d be able to repaint the walls and it’d look good! You use your clean sink to brush your teeth and do your other nightly stuff before you slip under your covers for the night.

You’re half inside the world of dreams and half inside the world of realities when a dog barking jars you awake. You stay still hoping the noise will go away shortly, but after twenty minutes of nearly straight barking you sit up. You peer in to the darkness in bitter disgust for several minutes. Now that you’re fully awake you can tell the dog is somewhere in the building. You were sure that there were rules against pets, but clearly rules didn’t mean much in this part of town.

After waiting for even longer you decide to just suffer through the racket. You had just moved in so you couldn’t just walk to someone else’s apartment and start banging on the door. You lie down with a pillow over your head and just enough room for you to breathe comfortably.

A pattern emerges pretty quickly, and you spend most nights with your head stuffed under a pillow. You learn to get to bed early enough that the barking doesn’t bother you, but even then you still end up waking up. After almost a full month of tolerating the noise, you’ve had enough.

In the middle of the night on a Tuesday, you swing out of bed and practically run to your apartment door. You don’t take a pause until you’re standing outside of the door to the apartment right next to your own. You can hear the dog’s claws hitting the ground as it dances nervously for whatever reason. You almost lose all of your confidence, but you will yourself to remember your exhaustion. You bang against the door loud enough that it can be heard over the barking. The barking only increases, but no one opens the door. You knock a second time, louder this time. When no one answers despair fills into your heart at the thought that the dog might be barking because his owner isn’t there.

But then you can hear someone walking around inside the apartment. You wait for a few more seconds expecting whoever was inside to open the door, but they don’t. You knock again, but this time instead of waiting you yell through the door hoping whoever is inside will listen.

“Hey! Can you tell your dog to keep its voice down? Some of us need to sleep!”

Almost immediately someone on the other side of the door lets out a bark of a laugh. “Hey Fido keep your voice down. Some people are trying to sleep.” The voice is gruff and unfriendly, but the dog quiets down.

You turn to leave, but you might as well be polite. “Thanks!” you shout back to the door. As you expected you don’t get a response, but it’s the thought that counts. 

You don’t see your neighbor for the first time until you accidently lock yourself out of your apartment. The owner of the apartment building is nowhere to be found and you don’t have the money to call a locksmith, so you resign yourself to waiting outside of the door until someone can help you.

You must doze off because when you open your eyes again it’s because someone is nudging your leg with the toe of their boot. You squint up at the man’s face. Fresh scars litter his otherwise handsome face and he looks down at you with a neutral expression.

“You locked out?” he asks without judgement in his voice. You simply nod your head.

He steps over you and pulls something out of his jacket. His body shields what he’s doing from your eyes, but within seconds you pushes your door open and waits for you to stand up. Your hand replaces his on the door to hold it open.

“Thanks”

He hums in acceptance of your graditude, but doesn’t leave right away. “The next time my dog is being too loud just bang on the wall.” He leaves you standing at your door. You watch his broad back disappear behind the door to his apartment before you finally return to your own apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Most of the time your new job kept you running around like a chicken with its head chopped off. Even at home you didn’t get much of a break. Your desk was covered in paper work in stacks that had no sense of order. There was food in the fridge, but you hadn’t cooked a meal since the first week you moved in. Your diet consisted of cheap Chinese food and refillable water bottles.

Finally you had a weekend off and on Saturday night you dig out all of the ingredients you need for your mom’s brownie recipe. It was always the most popular treat at any of your school bake sales. Mixing the ingredients and the mix together caused a deep homesickness to settle at the bottom of your chest, but you try to push the melancholy away and focus on the future taste of chocolate paradise.

You don’t remember that you live alone until after you’ve eaten a third of the pan of fresh brownies. With a full stomach, you contemplate what to do with the remaining brownies. You could store them in the fridge and eat them later, but your body would really hate you. But you didn’t want to throw them away either. Without a decision you begin to cut up the remaining brownies into reasonable squares. Maybe if they were already cut you wouldn’t be tempted to eat until you felt sick.

You were transferring the sweets onto a new plate when Fido next door started to bark again. The noise reminded you that your neighbor had helped you get into your apartment earlier in the week. Maybe you could give him some of the left over brownies as a thank you. You slide half of the brownies onto a second plate and cover them in some saran that you had in one of your drawers. You also grab a sticky note and write a quick note explaining what the treats are. You would give them to him personally, but he was just a little scary. You put the plate beside his door and then retreat back into your apartment. As soon as the door closes behind you, your stomach fills with butterflies. Not the kind that you get when you see your crush, but the kind that comes with the feeling of crushing anxiety. You suddenly wondered if he even ate sweets. He was a pretty built guy and maybe he was super into eating healthy.

You caught yourself pacing from the door to the window. Every other pass you run into the random mini wall that jutted into the hallway leading to the door. The layout of the apartment made it clear that this was not originally an apartment building. After stubbing your toe for the fifth time, you decide to call it a night. It’s a few hours before you normally go to bed, but if you were going to spend all of your time burning calories by walking in circles it would be smarter to get some extra sleep.

Sunday afternoon when you leave your apartment to go grocery shopping, there is a small piece of paper taped to your door. All it says is “Thanks” with a smiley face at the end. You know exactly who the note is from, but the little drawn smile catches you by surprise. IT’s cute. You tuck the note into your bag and leave for the store.

When you return a huge racket is coming from your neighbor’s apartment. Fido was howling, but he didn’t seem distressed. It sounded like he was having a good time. You were half way down the hall to your door when your neighbor’s door was thrust open by a pit bull’s head. The dog comes barreling towards you with its tongue flopping out. You drop your bags before the dog reaches you, but you can’t brace yourself in time. The dog jumps onto you and you fall to the ground. Your arms protect your face until you realize the fierce attack is simply a slobber bath.

“Fido get back here you piece of shit!” The words are harsh, but there’s an underlying tone of affection. The dog isn’t a very good listener though and he continues to stand over you excitedly. You laugh and return the dog’s affection with a pat on the side. Your neighbor grabs the dog’s leather collar and pulls him off of you. He guides the dog back into the apartment and closes the door. He turns around and offers you a hand. You gladly take it and he easily pulls you back to your feet. Before you can think to bend down and pick up the bags he’s already done it.

“Sorry about that ma’am. He doesn’t get to go out much.” You take the bags from him with a smile.

“It’s ok. He’s a sweet heart. He’s a pitbull right?”

“Yeah. Picked up from a dog fighting ring bust.”

The door to your room is open now. “That’s so cool. Well I don’t want to keep you from whatever you were doing.” You almost close the door, but suddenly remember something that you had wanted to ask for a while. “Wait before we don’t see each other for another month, what’s your name?”

“Frank.” He doesn’t give any kind of last name so you don’t ask.

“(Y/N). Have a good night Frank.”

“Night”

The door closes and you drop the bags of groceries on your counter. Frank. The name fit him. For all of his scars and muscles he was very polite. You hoped that you’d be able to interact with Frank more. For whatever reason you wanted to learn more about him. The man with a loveable ex-pitbull fighter, both littered with scars and much more thoughtful then they appeared.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months later and you were still locking yourself out of your apartment on a regular basis. The first time it happens, you wait outside your door for almost thirty minutes. You pace past Frank’s door five times before you finally gain the courage to knock. When there was no immediate response you wait another couple of minutes before you muster up the strength to call into the room.

“Hey Frank. It’s (Y/n). Uhhh..I kind of locked myself out of my apartment again. Do you think you could help me get it open again?”

There are a few silent seconds in between your question and the sound of a chair scratching against the floor. The door in front of you opens and Frank fills the space left behind.

“How long have you lived here?” He asks with an unimpressed expression. There’s a small inflection in his voice that causes you to narrow your eyes.

“There’s no need to be patronizing. I just happen to have the memory of a goldfish.” The man let’s out a half laugh, but you can’t tell if it’s because what you said was funny or if he thought you were being stupid. He moved past you and closed his door behind him.

You watched from a distance as he picked your lock. When he was finished he held the door open for you. You squeezed past him into your apartment.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t leave your door way like you expect.

“You should go out and buy a better lock.” You furrow your eyebrows at him in question. “Go get your key and let me see it.” You grab the key that is sitting on your kitchen counter and bring it over to the man. He only has to glance at the key to confirm his suspicions.

“I can’t show you the inside of the lock, but this key only has three teeth right?” You nod your head. “So there are only three pins inside the lock that a thief has to deal with. Get a lock with more pins.” He hands the key back to you. “Any of the assholes that live in this building could break into your apartment with this piece of shit being the only thing in their way. Next paycheck you get buy a new lock. Hire someone who can install it properly and if you can’t, I’ll do it.” 

You tuck the key into your pocket. “Why the sudden need for extra protection?” Hearing him talk about the safety of your apartment with such strength has you paranoid.

He scratches the back of his head. “Listen a couple of shit bags moved in downstairs. They’ve gotta bad police record between the two of them. Don’t want you to be hurt because you weren’t prepared.”

You were expecting something less considerate. Something like, he didn’t want to have to keep picking your locks for you. “Thanks for looking out for me. I think I’ll be ok though. I have a taser in my purse at all times.”

“Really.” Though his tone gives off a sense of surprise there isn’t a change in his face that would indicate if he’s actually surprised. “I’m impressed. You’re not as naïve as I thought.”

“Thanks I guess?” You tilt you head in question. “I’m alone in New York city. Going somewhere without some kind of protection would just be stupid.”

He nods his head in agreement. “Now get your locks fixed and tape your damn key to your forehead so I don’t have to keep breaking into your apartment.” He leaves your door way and goes back to his room without another word.

You do as he says and the next time you get a paycheck the first thing you do is buy a more complex lock. You even remember to ask how many pins it has. You’re standing outside you’re apartment while the man is replacing your locks. Frank walks by and gives you an approving nod. You smile to yourself, knowing that someone is looking out for you a little.

Luckily at the same time that you got a more complex lock you stopped leaving your key in your apartment. You almost forgot several times, but when you saw the new lock on your door every morning you remembered. After several weeks of good memory, you’re naïve enough to think that you’ll never forget your key again. Then on the exact day that you are bold enough to think that, you forget your key.

You remember an instance too late. Your hand is a centimeter away from the door when it slams shut in your face. You’re not ashamed to admit it. You screamed profanities for a good minute before sinking to the floor and dialing the locksmith’s number. As you’re sitting listening to the dial tone, Frank’s door opens. Fido come racing out of the door towards you. You brace yourself to take the impact of the door, but the dog is stopped short by the leash clipped on to his collar.

“Calm down Fido, you shit machine. We’re not here to slobber on people.” Frank pulls the dog back under control and the Pitbull returns to his owner’s side and sits down obediently. The man takes one look at you and knows what has happened.

“Have you considered wearing the key like a necklace?” You know he’s teasing you and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Go walk your dog, Frank.” You see a cute half smile on his face before he turns around to reach back into his apartment.

The dialing tone on the other end of the phone is abruptly cut short and a man’s voice takes its place.

Gillards Locksmith Service. How can we help you today?

“Hi! I just locked myself out of my apartment and I need someone to come and open it for me.”

All right Ma’am if you’ll give me your address someone will-

The man’s question is cut short when a yell comes from Frank’s direction. “Fido! Damnit!”

Is everything all right ma’am?

“Yes everything’s fine. Sorry about that.” Frank and Fido sit down on the opposite side of the hallway from you. Frank has one of the most pissed off face you’ve ever seen, and it contrasts comically with his dog’s happy panting face. “Actually, if I need to get two doors unlocked what should I do?”

We’ll just schedule the locksmith to be there for more time. What is your address?

You give the man the apartment complex and your room numbers while struggling to hide a smile. The whole time Frank’s face doesn’t move an inch which only makes it harder not to laugh. When you hang up you reach out to pet Fido. He races over to your side and clambers into your lap. While you shower him with affection Frank throws the leash your way. You catch it in the air and loop it around your wrist so if Fido decides to bolt he won’t be able to get very far.

“So wanna tell me how you got locked out of your apartment?” You ask jokingly.

“Not at all.”

“That’s what I figured.”

The two of you sit in the hallway in silence. Eventually Fido calms down and falls asleep while sprawled across your lap. Eventually the silence wraps around you and even though it’s not an awkward silence you want it to stop.

“So Frank…What’s your favorite food?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you really going to make small talk?”

You shrug your shoulders. “We have nothing else to do. What not a fan of answering benign questions?”

“Normally no but…Chinese food. Prefer the real stuff, but the shit they sell around here is all I’ve got.” He shifts slightly and crosses his arms across his chest. The action causes his biceps to stand out even more than they already do and it takes actual effort not to visibly look at them. “How bout you?”

“Oh boy. That’s always been a hard question for me to answer. Probably Mac’ N Cheese. Maybe just Italian in general.”

“Mac N Cheese. How old are you again?” You lightly kick the foot that is resting beside your own, careful not to rouse the sleeping dog.

“There’s no such thing as too old for Mac N Cheese. I lived off of that stuff when I first moved out and I still love it. Ok what is your ideal vacation?”

He scratches at the stubble on his chin, thinking about his answer. “Going to a bunch of dog fighting rings and seeing that all of the dogs are taken care and all the shitheads that abused them get what they deserve.”

“I like that idea. I’ve never understood why some people would do that kind of stuff.” You scratch at Fido’s ears earning a satisfied groan from the dog.

“Some people are just assholes.” You continue to pet Fido while you try to come up with more questions.

Before you can come up with anything though Frank asks you, “What do you think about the vigilantes that rule the streets around here? Must be different than where you grew up.”

You have to think about your answer for a few seconds before you can put your thoughts in order. “Well it’s definitely different, but I don’t know if they rule the streets. Maybe you know more since you’ve been here longer, but they don’t seem like bad people. I’m thankful that they’re around. If they didn’t stop the crime in Hell’s Kitchen this place would be a black hole.”

“What about that Punisher guy. Killin’ and stuff like it’s no problem.”

Once again you shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think I agree with his tactics, but I can see why he does what he does. Maybe some people need to be killed.” You shrug again. Actually you had thought about the same thing multiple times. After seeing the stories on the news of the Punisher’s deeds, and comparing them to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen you still weren’t sure who the “better man” was. Maybe there was no such thing.

Frank taps his booted foot against your tennis shoes. “Hey didn’t mean to be so serious.”

You flash him a quick smile to let him know everything was all right. Before you can apologize for getting so melancholy the elevator doors open and a man with a tool box and dirty jeans walks onto the floor.

“Did you call for a locksmith?”

You remove the sleeping dog off of your lap and stand up from the floor. “Yes sir. Both of our doors need to be opened.” You hand Fido’s leash back to Frank to escort the man to your door. He asks very few questions before pulling very nice looking lock picking tools out of the tool box. It takes very little time for the man to do his work and afterwards he praises you with the quality of the lock.

You thank him, pay him, and say good bye. Outside the sky is dark and it looks like you’ll have to put off what you had planned to do for that day. And it looked like Fido wasn’t going to be able to go on a walk.

“Sorry you didn’t get to go on a walk, buddy.” You pat him on the head before straightening up to say good bye to Frank. Before you do though a thought comes to you. “Hey I know that Fido doesn’t get a lot of time outside, and I could use a guard dog when I go on walks so what if I started taking him on walks for you?”

Even as you’re saying it, it sounds like a stupid idea. But apparently it sounds good enough to Frank. “Sure. I’m in my apartment most of the time, so just knock on my door whenever.”

“Ok great!” Suddenly you are very excited to get to spend more time with Fido. It had been so long since you’d actually gotten to spend quality time with a dog. “I’ll see you later then. Have a good night.”

“Night.” 

You practically skip back to your room with excitement. Turns out that leaving your key on your kitchen counter could be a good thing.


	4. Chapter 4

It takes ten minutes for you to dig out your old workout clothes. This probably should have given you hint for how the rest of the day was going to go, but you just told yourself that you had been too busy to properly unpack them up. 

You knocked on Frank’s door. Within seconds he had opened the door with Fido’s leash in his hand. He hands you the leash along with a bag of dog treats.

“He’s a spoiled ass hole so if he starts misbehaving just give him a treat or two.” You tuck the bag of treats into one of your pockets.

“Wow Fido. You’re living the life and now you get to drag me through the park.” You rub the dog’s head vigorously and he sniffs at your pockets. “I’ll probably be back in an hour at the most.”

“I’ll be here.”

The night before you were concerned that Fido was going to rip your arm off. Frank wasn’t an enormously tall guy, but he was muscular and could have picked Fido up if he needed to. You, on the other hand, didn’t work out much at all and your muscle mass proved that. But the leash’s grip is cushioned and the dog is docile. He walks calmly beside you until you get to the nearest park and doesn’t try to race ahead when you arrive. You notice that people give you a wide birth while you walk, and the sidewalk space is a nice change from the normal claustrophobia that comes with the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

Once you’re on the walkways of the park you pick up your pace to a light jog. Beautiful images of you jogging effortlessly through the green grass fill your imagination. In reality, you start struggling for air before you reach the three minute mark. Fido, however, doesn’t have the same problems that you do. He continues to pull at the leash well after you stop running. You call him back to your side and feed him a treat. He leaves a layer of slobber on your hand, but the puppy eyes he gives you forces you to feed him an extra treat.

“I can’t give you too many treats, ok? Frank wouldn’t be happy if I show up with a sick dog and an empty bag of treats.” It’s certainly coincidental, but Fido winks at you and you laugh at the thought that the dog is agreeing with you.

The rest of the walk passes peacefully. Fido attempts to chase after a few squirrels, but never quite drags you through the mud. The pace you set is brisk, but you don’t end up in the pain you were suffering at the beginning of the stroll. When you return Fido to Frank, your face has a hot glow to it and sweat shines on your exposed skin.

Walking Fido becomes an almost daily routine. Some days Frank is standing outside of his apartment waiting for you. The first time you find him leaning patiently against the wall you tell him not to wait on you. He simply tells you that he was on his way out anyways. The next time he meets you in the hallway, he asks if you’ll keep an eye on Fido until he gets back. When you ask why he’ll be out so late, a careful mask seems to replace the normal attentive expression that resides in his eyes. A new job, he says. You don’t believe him for a second, but the way that he dismisses the question so quickly tells you to stop asking questions.

After your walk, you let Fido roam through your apartment. His nails slide against the floor and he clumsily runs into the misplaced wall at your entrance way. While the dog gallops through your small home, you settle down in front of your TV with a small stack of paper work. Eventually the pit bull joins you on the couch. He places his head in your lap, obstructing your work, but you don’t bother moving him. Instead you give up on the work and turn on the TV. The news is the first channel that you see. Unsurprisingly the reporters are talking about some new crime in progress. The Punisher was razing a suspected human trafficking building while the police swarmed the outside of the building in confusion. Every time you saw one of these vigilante news stories you wonder if the police are incompetent or if the vigilantes are extremely smart.

You are still awake at ten, when someone knocks on your door. Fido is the first to react and is barking at the door before you’re standing from the couch. You check through the peephole and see your neighbor watching something down the hall. You clip Fido’s leash onto his collar in anticipation of handing him back to Frank. However, when you open the door, Frank briskly pushes past you and shuts the door quickly. He firmly pushes you further into your apartment towards your bedroom.

“I’ll explain later. Stay in your bedroom until I come back to get you.” He turns you around so you’re facing him. He must see the surprise in your eyes. His expression softens. “I’m overreacting. But…” he trails off. “Just stay in here.” He shuts the door to the bedroom. Within seconds of being left alone, you hear yelling coming from the hallway. You don’t understand most of what their demands are, but it sounds like they’re looking for money. A few minutes pass and you wonder if Frank is ever going to deal with the problem, or if he’s going to wait until they force their way in. The people outside start beating on the door with more force. Fido starts barking ferociously, a noise that you had never heard come from the dog. The criminals don’t stop their assault on your door and finally you hear Frank’s heavy footsteps moving through the house.

The next thing you hear is your door slam against the entrance way wall followed by more yelling. This time, though, Frank is the one yelling. Several sets of footsteps sprint down the hall and silence reigns over the apartment. Fido moves through the apartment and sits by the door to your bedroom. He paws at the door, whining to see you. You almost open the door to let him in, but you’re wary. The criminals were gone, probably chased off by Frank, but you didn’t want to be stupid. So you sat on the floor by the door and stick your fingers under the door, laughing to yourself when Fido licks them. You sit like that for ten minutes before you hear footsteps again.

“You can come out.”

You stand up and open up the door. You peer around the door at the almost empty apartment. Frank is standing in the entrance way with Fido’s leash in his hand.

“So what exactly was that all about?” Considering all of the yelling you were only moderately shaken up. You were more interested in how to prevent something like this from happening again.

“Those were the people I told you about. The shits that moved in downstairs. Their “business” hasn’t made the money they hoped.”

“So they just planned to bully me into giving them money.” You walk over to your apartment door to see the new dents in the door.

“They were ready to do more than bully you. I didn’t think they had to balls to actually threaten someone with a gun, but they were packing.”

“What am I supposed to do if they come back?” You have very little self-defense training and the small amount of weapons that you have available for use won’t do you any good against guns.

Frank shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. They won’t bother you again.”

You nod, but continue to trace your finger over the indentations. In your mind the people from downstairs are only the beginning. What if someone else moved in? Someone else could move and do the same thing. If Frank hadn’t been at your door at the right time you might’ve been hurt. When you look up from the wood, Frank is watching you closely.

“You have a cellphone?” You nod your head, though you pull your eyebrows together in confusion. “Can I see it?” You pull the device out of your pocket and hand it over to him. He taps around on the screen for a few minutes before handing it back. The new contact information is still on the screen. “That’s my number. Any time you feel in danger call me. Any time. Got it?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do this for me Frank. I’m sure I can handle myself.” You hate to be a burden especially since your friendship with him started with your continuously forgetting your keys.

“I’ve got your back. You walk my dog. I make sure people don’t mess with you. Deal?”

This time you nod with more vigor. “All right. Deal. Thanks for the help though. For real.”

“Don’t thank me. Just being a decent human being. No sense in letting some shitheads get what they want.”

You laugh. “Well I’m going to make you brownies any ways.” The man shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but a small amused smile graces his lips.

“Come on Fido.” The pair leave your apartment and shut the door behind them. Having Frank’s number in your phone excites you way too much. On one level you wish you could us it, but on another level you know his number is to be left for emergencies. Hopefully you wouldn’t have any more emergencies.


	5. Chapter 5

Luckily there aren’t any more interruptions to you daily schedule after that night. You work hard at your job and then return home to run with Fido. Some nights you get a whole stack of paper work done and other nights you spend the night cuddled with the dog, watching TV. Three months pass and your boss calls you into his office.

The walk past your curious workers caused a spike in your heart rate. You couldn’t tell if they were looking at you with sympathy or with jealousy. Or maybe they were just staring. You entered your boss’s office with your feet dragging against the carpet, but when you left the foreboding room you’re feet hardly touch the ground. The happiness of your promotion doesn’t leave your face despite having to move all of the components of your desk across the building.

People tell you that you’re “glowing.” When you look in your bathroom mirror you don’t see any changes. You change into your running clothes and take a second look at your reflection. For the first time you take the time to notice the subtle changes that had happened to you since you moved to Hell’s Kitchen. Your skin was clearer, you hair looked healthier, and you looked more muscular. The day you moved into this apartment you were convinced you would get a lung disease because of the mold. You definitely didn’t think you would love this dingy apartment.

When Frank opened his door, his eyebrows shot up immediately. “You look happy about somethin’. Finally getting out of this place?”

“No! I got a promotion. I get my own office now. Equipped with the view of a decrepit building and everything.”

He lets out a single breath of a laugh. “Sounds like quite the improvement.” Fido’s impatience finally gets the best of him and he jumps up so that his front paws rest on your legs.

“Hi buddy.” You scratch the dog’s ears and take the leash from Frank. 

You make it halfway down the hall before Frank calls out to you. “Don’t go running in front of cars in your happiness.” Your only response is to turn your head and smile back at the man in a sarcastic manner.

You finish your run in record time and feel the soothing fatigue that comes after a day of hard work. Frank hadn’t asked you to watch Fido, but when you return to the apartment building he’s nowhere to be seen. His disappearance causes a pit of anxiety to settle in your stomach, but you convince yourself that he’s just late. The anxiety doesn’t leave though, and you spend the night trying to distract yourself. You finish the TV show you were watching on Netflix and then move on to watch nature documentaries. Fido rests beside you, peacefully snoring with his face pressed into your thigh. The clock on your phone reads two in the morning. At this point you were continuously looking at your door and then looking at your phone in a continuous cycle. You had a new message created with Frank’s name at the top of the screen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to send the message.

Finally, you move yourself and Fido around so that the two of you are lying comfortably on the couch together. You pull a blanket off of the ground and snuggle into the plush fabric. Despite the cramped quarters of the couch, you fall asleep quickly and several hours pass before you are awoken by soft knocking on your door. Fido has jumped off the couch and is standing attentively at the door. You stay under the blankets, straining your ears for another knock. When the knocking starts again you slowly rise from the couch and tip toe over to the door. You grab onto the dog’s collar. Not to keep the dog from lunging at whoever was knocking, but to steady your own shaking hand. You peer through the peephole of the door and let out the breath you were holding. It was just Frank. But he looked like he was three seconds away from death.

You opened the door and Frank struggled to push himself off of the door frame.

“Sorry. I got caught up in something. I’ll take Fido.” His words slurred together and his eyes never fully opened. You couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just exhausted.

Beside you Fido danced excitedly but you didn’t let go of his collar. “Are you all right, Frank? You look like you haven’t slept in years.”

The man lets out a short scoff. “Can’t say you’re lying.”

“Frank I think you need to come inside and sit down for a while.”

“Nah I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll just take Fido. He tries to grab for Fido’s collar but you push his hand away.

“I’m serious. Whether or not you tell me why you look so horrid is up to you, but I’m going to insist that you come inside. I’m kind of worried that you’re going to pass out and hit your head or something.”

The scarred man glances back towards his door and stares at it, thinking. He turns his head back to you and finally gestures into your apartment, conceding to your demands. He hesitates in the entrance way before you usher him over to the couch where you blanket was still laying half on the floor. He sits down and Fido jumps up to join him. He tiredly pets the dog and blinks slowly.

“Do you need anything? I don’t have a lot of food but I could scrounge something up.”

“Just water, please.”

You fill a glass with water from the sink and bring it over to him. He takes it from you and downs it without taking it away from his lips. Now that he’s sitting down he looks like he’s struggling even more to stay awake.

“There’s a blanket right next to you if you want to sleep. I have to get up soon to go to work so I’ll check on you in the morning.” You reach the door to your bedroom but turn around in the doorway to point a finger at the man resting on your couch. “And don’t try to leave. I’ll come to your room and force my way in.”

A sideways smile appears on the man’s face and he looks away from you, shaking his head. The scene before you feels strangely comfortable. Frank is sitting back on the couch with one hand idle petting Fido who is laying in Frank’s lap. A smile appears on your face before you close the door.

The next morning when you walk out of your room you find Frank sprawled across the couch, mouth hanging open and Fido resting on the floor beneath him. You carefully step through the living area of the apartment. You make coffee as quietly as possible, but apparently you’re quietest is still loud enough to wake up Frank. You hear the couch creak followed by heavy footsteps. Frank has left his jacket on the couch and walks into your kitchen with half opened eyes and bed head. He stops by the counter, leans against the plastic granite, and rubs a hand over his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’okay. I need to get back to my apartment.” His words are still blurring together. There is no doubt in your mind that Frank is not a morning person. The coffee pot behind you finishes its job and you have full pot of black coffee.

“Before you go do you want a cup of coffee?” You lift yourself up with the counter to reach into your cupboards. The last of your coffee cups have been pushed towards the back and your fingertips barely brush against the porcelain. Without warning a body moves right behind your own, and Frank reaches past you and grabs the two coffee mugs that were closest. As soon as he has them in his fingers he steps back to lean backwards on the counter. When you turn around to face him he’s holding the cups out for you to grab. The sight of your bright red face is enough to cause a small self-satisfied smirk to appear on his lips. 

You pretend not to notice and take the cups from him. You pour two equal cups of coffee.

“How do you like your coffee?” You ask, making sure that your voice sounds normal.

“Black”

You had him one of the cups and move to the fridge to get the ingredients you needed for your own cup. Before Frank can finish the coffee and escape your apartment, you set your coffee down and look at himcuriously.

“So tell me. Were you really just tired last night or did your blood alcohol level get a little too high?”

“Just tired.”

You a hum a suspicious response but you narrow your eyes comically at him.

He raises his unoccupied hand in surrender. “I promise.” He swallows the last of the coffee and puts the dishes in your already full sink. Without missing a beat he’s turning on the hot water and searching through the space beneath your sink.

You furrow your eyebrows and wait for some sort of explanation as to what he’s doing. When none come you ask what he’s looking for.

“Dishsoap.”

The last thing you want to do is tell him that you haven’t bought dish soap since you arrived in New York. “Why do you need dishsoap?”

“So I can wash you dishes?” He looks up at you from his crouched position with a dumbfounded expression. As if he wasn’t the man rummaging through your cleaning supplies.

“Frank, you are not going to wash my dishes. I am a grown woman.”

“You babysit me for the night. I wash the dishes.” He stands. “So where is it?”

“No Frank I can’t-“

“I’m washing your dishes.” He isn’t backing down.

A few seconds pass as you struggle to come up with another question to ask, but he doesn’t seem to be losing any patience and your mind remains blank.

“Ok so here’s the thing. I don’t have any. I haven’t had any since I moved in.”

Instead of the look of horror that you expect to see appear on his face, he simply raises an eyebrow in surprise. “How many plates do you own.”

“I mostly eat take out.” You admitted a little ashamed of your bad habits.

Without thinking Frank moves back through your apartment to the door. “I’ll be back. Come on Fido.” The dog picks himself up off the floor and follows his owner through your apartment door. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes at his stubbornness. Instead of waiting for him to return you finish getting ready for your day at work. When Frank returns you have your jacket on and your lunchclutched in your hand.

You almost say something about how weird it is leaving someone alone in your apartment, but that’s not really what’s bothering you. The fact that Frank looks so familiar in a kitchen, cleaning the dishes is what bothers you. All the other favors he’s done for you, breaking into your apartment, scaring away thiefs, seemed to fit his image. The big muscular guy that never had a totally healed face. You hadn’t given a thought to their being another side to Frank. A guy who isn’t bothered by washing the dishes or helping you reach shelves that were too high.

You can’t say any of this out loud. You just stand by the door and watch. “Thanks Frank.” He doesn’t respond verbally. He only raises a hand to acknowledge your good bye. His hand is already red from the heat of the water. You stand silently for a few more seconds before turning around and shutting the door behind you.


	6. Chapter 6

When Frank actually disappears it stresses Fido more than it stresses you. When you picked Fido up, there were no signs that he was planning to disappear. You took Fido home and stayed up waiting for Frank as long as you could. The next morning you expected to find a very tired Frank waiting for you to return his dog, but instead you were stuck with a very stressed dog and no way to calm him down. It was a Tuesday and saying that you had to take care of your neighbor’s dog wasn’t going to get you out of work, so you slipped a note under Frank’s door telling him your door was unlocked and prayed that Fido wouldn’t destroy your apartment. When you returned from your work day, Fido was still in your apartment and Frank’s door hadn’t been opened. Fido whined at the door until dinner when you gave him a portion of your meal. Until this point you hadn’t let yourself think too long on the possibility that Frank was dead, but now you couldn’t get the idea out of your head. You anxiously scanned through all of the local newspapers looking for some mention of a dead man. Your two hour long search held no results and you were left even more confused than before. There were reports of massive casualties at a meth factory uptown, bodies of notoriously vicious pimps found at the edge of the river, and dogs running wild throughout the city after a huge dog fighting ring was busted, but there were no specific body descriptions. You wanted to tear your hair out knowing that Frank’s body could be included in one of these reports, but you didn’t know which one, if any.

The next day at work you continue to search through the news, the obituaries, the unidentified bodies located on the police office’s page, but there was nothing about a muscular man littered with scars dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. Nothing that sounded like Frank Castle. The fact that you couldn’t find any evidence of his death made you wonder if he had just abandoned you and Fido. He didn’t have any reason to tell you his business, but he could have at least told you that you needed to buy dog food.

You open the door to your apartment only to see Fido’s sorry eyes looking back at you. Your apartment is still in one piece, but Fido very clearly misses his companion. You try to distract him by taking him on a long run, but his steps aren’t as energetic as they normally are. On the way home you buy a small bag of dog food and a bag of treats in order to make Fido feel as at home as possible.

Two days pass and Fido hardly takes a break from whining pitifully by the door to your apartment. You see moments of the dog’s happiness when you give him food or when you break out the bag of treats, but the majority of the time your heart breaks every time you look at the dog. Finally you’ve had enough. You leave your apartment, stomping in anger. You angrily turn the knob on Frank’s apartment door, expecting to be met with a locked door. Instead, your overzealous use of muscle causes you to fall directly into the room. The door bangs against the wall and from your position on the floor you can see the dent that the impact creates in the wall. You slowly get back onto your feet and take a look around the apartment. It’s unsurprisingly bare and pretty messy. Discarded empty cans and old newspapers are scattered on the floor and on the table that sits in the corner of the main room. But the mess is nowhere near as shocking as seeing the massive amounts of weapons and ammunition that is stacked against the walls and on the counters.

You stand in the doorway for several minutes before you manage the courage you need to walk in between the stacks of the deadly objects. It’s irrational for you to fear bumping into the boxes, but you find yourself stepping quietly to the kitchen table. At one edge of the table is a stack of newspapers. You flip through the stack glancing at all the headlines. The Punisher Back from the Dead?, New Vigilante Knocks out Biker Gang, Drug Deal Found Dead on Streetlight, Dogfighting Ring Destroyed! Every paper had a headline that said something about crime. Most of them violent. The second stack are papers that headline recent crimes. But not ones that end in the bad guys dying, ones that simply reporting a new tragedy that occurred. Looking towards the bottom of the stacks you can see some of the news reports that you watched when you first arrived in Hell’s Kitchen.

You glance away from the newspapers and look further up the table. In the remaining clear spot on the table lays a single piece of yellow, lined paper. You recognize Frank’s hand writing.

 

_(Y/N)_

__

__

_Please take care of Fido. I might come back, might not. All the stuff I bought for him is in the corner of the room. An envelope in one of the cabinets has enough money to take care of him for a while. I couldn’t leave him at a shelter. You might know what kind of monster I am now. I’m sorry I got you involved, but you were safe. You’re still safe._

_Take care of yourself._

 

There is no name attached, but below the last sentence you can make out four scribbled letters.

~~PUNI~~ The letters have been violently scratched out as if Frank got frustrated with what he was trying to do, but you understood well enough. The man you had invited into your house, the man that you had baked brownies for. You thoughts seem to pause and white noise fills the blank. The man whose dog you loved was the same man that ran around shooting people in the head without discretion. 

You fold the letter and stuff it into the pocket of your pants. You throw open the cabinet doors in a panic, hurriedly looking for the envelope and the rest of the dog’s supplies. You find the envelope, but you don’t bother looking inside to see just how much cash there is. In the corner of the kitchen you see two dog bowls, a huge bag of food, a couple toys, and comfortable looking bed. It takes you two trips to move all of the supplies. You have the bed in your arms when you spot the closed door to what would be Frank’s bedroom. The things you could learn about the man if you opened those doors. But you already felt guilty for going through his apartment, even if he intended for you to. You knew what you needed to and you left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Fido doesn’t recover for another month. Gradually, the time that he spends sitting by your door decreases until he spends most of his time lying on your couch or his bed. Originally his bed was in the main room of the apartment, but every morning you woke up to find Fido sleeping on the floor of your room. The instant you move the bed inside of your room he sleeps on it every night.

Life returns to normal for you and the dog. Frank’s apartment is never visited again and the door remains firmly shut. Some days you almost forget that Fido hasn’t been with you forever. You got your mile run down to ten minutes.

A pot of pasta was boiling on the stove while you sat watching the newest superman movie. Fido was staring attentively out of the alley window at a car that was parked there. It was a Friday night and you were attempting to power through the rest of your paperwork so you could take the weekend off. You hear the water bubbling gentle and set aside your papers. You pass by your pitbull and glance out the window. The car is still parked in the alleyway, but there’s a man sitting in the passenger’s seat. The fact that the driver’s seat is empty makes you suspicious, but it was possible the passenger was simply waiting on someone. The sight sets you on edge, but you continue making your food. You’ve learned to ignore the suspicious activity that surrounds your apartment building. With your finished pasta you pass back past the window. This time the man in the car is looking directly in your window. It feels like your blood freezes in your veins and your heart jumps into your throat. Your pace falters for a split second before you force yourself to continue morning. If the man was looking at you, you didn’t need for him to think you were watching him.

You were less eager to eat your dinner now, but you forced the food down. The entire time Fido didn’t leave the window a single time. His focus on the car outside does nothing to ease your worry. When you pass the window for a third time you make a sly glance out the window.

The bowl you were holding shatters against the floor. You dive to the floor. Your chin connects harshly with the false tile at the same time that a deafening shot sounds. You can’t tell if the ringing in your ears is the sound of shattered glass hitting the floor or if your hearing is ruined. You scramble to get behind the kitchen counter. A second blast lodges itself into the cabinets above you. Your trembling hands are above your head before you fully register what is going on. Your breath keeps getting caught in your throat and it feels like you’re swimming. In the space between gun shots you try to get farther away from the windows. You should be able to hear your feet falling against the floor, but you can only feel the reverberations.

Your footsteps aren’t the only ones you can feel though. The apartment’s floor have never been very stable and you can feel someone running down the hall. The gun had failed and now they were coming to finish you off face to face. You lunge towards the door and fall to your hands and knees. You try to stand up a second time and sprint to the door. Your fingers graze the doorknob before the door is thrown open. The force causes you to stumble backwards but before you can take a step away from the exposed hallway a man tackles you around the waist and slams you into the corner of the false wall. The only thing you can see is a dark bullet proof vest. You struggle against the unyielding force, but you’re not moving an inch. A barrage of bullets annihilates the remaining glass in the windows and chunks of dry wall fly into the air. You are pushed impossibly farther into the wall until you can hardly breathe.

For a while the world is nothing, but the feeling of suffocation and endless noise. The edges of your vision are fading when a sudden and intense silence engulfs you. The pressure pushing against you lessens ever so slightly, but it’s enough for your ribs to expand. After a few minutes of perfect silence the rest of the pressure against you is pulled away. Your assaulter leans down so you have no choice but to look into the eyes of Frank Castle. His mouth is moving, but the ringing in your ears is too loud for you to hear any of the words he is saying. When you continue to stare at him he raises his voice. He’s practically screaming before you understand what he’s asking.

“Are you hurt?” You look down at your arms at the small scratches that litter your skin. But all of that is minor. You nod your head at him, but your answer doesn’t satisfy him. His hands gently run across your head, searching for any injuries that you hadn’t noticed. He checks you neck, the back of your arms, and your stomach, searching for any blood. When he finds none he rests his hands on the sides of your face so that you’re looking at him again.

His words are deliberate, making sure that your muddled mind understands what he’s saying. “The police are coming. Stay in here. Wait for them. Tell them that the Punisher took your boyfriend.” It’s at this time that your eyes stray from his to land on the painted skull that spreads on his armor. The man drops to his knees so that his face is once again all you can see.

“You with me? Hey, hey! You’re all right.” You raise a hand to your face to feel the tears that are slipping out of your eyes without your notice. Your hands are quaking now, and you can’t get them to stop. Frank grabs both of your hands between his own. The warmth of his hands spreads up your arms warming you up even though you hadn’t noticed you were cold. “You’re alive. You’re going to be safe.”

The apartment is flooded with red and blue lights and the sound of police sirens. Frank looks hurriedly at the empty windows. The presence of the police has clearly agitated him, but he brings his focus back to you. “Do what you have to do. Get the police to get you a hotel. Go somewhere else. Be safe.” The serious expression drops off of his face, and he looks at you with a sorrowful expression. “I did this to you. I’m sorry.”

His apology is followed closely by a choked sob coming from you. The shock of the entire situation is starting to catch up to you as your adrenaline wears off. Your legs give out from under you and you fall to your knees. You bury your face into your hands.

Police doors slam shut outside.

Frank stands over you awkwardly looking back and forth between you and the door. After a few seconds he takes a step towards the door. At the last second your hand grabs the bottom of his dark jeans. He doesn’t jerk his leg away from you. Your red glazed eyes meet his clear brown ones.

“This is a really shitty good bye, Frank Castle.” You don’t know where the sudden strength came from, but you knew that if you watched him walk down that hallway you would never see him again.

He isn’t surprised that you know his full name, and he doesn’t break eye contact with you for a long time.

On the first floor of the building a door slams against a wall.

Frank drops harshly to his knees in front of you. He rests his calloused hands on your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. This wasn’t the kind of good bye that you were expecting, but it was one that maybe you were secretly hoping for. His lips were warm and they fit perfectly against yours.

Booted feet pound against the stairs.

Frank pulls away so he can look in your eyes with his forehead pressed against yours. “Good bye.”

He stands back and turns away from you without another glance. He walks calmly down the hallway towards the door to the stair well. He’s almost at the door when it’s thrown open and police officers begin yelling the standard commands. Immediately a fight breaks out, but you don’t want to watch it. You bury your head in your hands again, but this time you weren’t crying. From somewhere in the apartment Fido walks back to you. You spare a hand to gentle stroke his head, careful of where broken glass has made small cuts. You’re more happy that he wasn’t badly hurt than you were that you were alive.

The police find you with your face buried in Fido’s fur and your arms wrapped tightly around the dog’s neck.


	8. Chapter 8

You live in a hotel room for two weeks. It’s not the nicest hotel to live in, but it was free. After explaining how you were “attacked by the Punisher” the police offered to pay for a hotel until you were able to buy a new place. The free breakfast and the pet friendly rooms were nice, but by the five night of sleeping in between stiff sheets, you were ready to find a new home. Your recent promotion and your collection of savings was enough for a nicer apartment on the opposite side of town. A lot of your possessions were destroyed or seriously damaged in the attack so you didn’t have a lot to move. For a while your cupboards were filled with nothing but cheap plastic cubs and the mix of ceramic dishes that had survived.

The appliances worked one hundred times better than your old ones and the TV actually had a clear image. There was enough room in your new bedroom for Fido to sleep on the floor without you tripping over him in the morning.

It was a good time.

But you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder and checking out the window. There were nights when you couldn’t sleep because the window in your bedroom was wide open. You bought heavy curtains and moved your bed at least once week, but nothing could erase the sound of the glass hitting the ground from your memory. One bad nights you slept on your new couch with Fido curled up at your feet. The window in the living area were less open.

Your boss was a really great guy. He checked on you several times throughout the week and noticed whenever you didn’t get your normal amount of sleep. He offered to pay for a therapist, but you declined every time he offered. You weren’t really sure why you declined so often. You needed to talk to someone. You knew that, but you were nervous about going to a therapist. You couldn’t have explained why.

You just told yourself that Fido was your therapist. You still went on long walks with him, but the scenery was different. You were closer to a much larger park which meant Fido had more to sniff. And more people to say hello to. You were always given a break from running when someone wanted to pet him. You felt safer walking Fido then you did walking around your apartment.

One month passed without incident.

In the second month you swear you see Frank Castle across the street while you’re walking to your favorite restaurant. From the corner of your eye you see a blue baseball cap duck deeper into the crowd. Your heart leaps into your throat. You should be avoiding Frank, but all you want to do is run up to him. To make sure he’s still breathing. But the rush of traffic obscures the crowd of people and when a gap appears, the man in the cap is nowhere to be seen.

This sort of thing started to happen regularly. You would catch a glimpse of a bruised face or a familiar leather jacket, but when you turned around to get a better look whoever you were looking for was gone. It was completely possible that you were imagining it. You were already imagining men with dark trench coats and guns everywhere so imagining Frank wasn’t a stretch.

But you’ll never stop running after him.

He’s still around. You know because his criminal persona still shows up in the papers on a regular basis. The articles detailing the Punisher’s bloody deeds are always accompanied by blurry photos. Somehow Frank avoided the camera every single time. It was kind of impressive.

A week before Fido’s bag of food runs out, you find a crumpled twenty dollar in the hallway in front of your apartment. If the rooms that were near you weren’t empty, you’d try to return it, but as it was you knew exactly who the money was from.

One night in the middle of spring you take Fido on a late night walk. Work had run late, but you didn’t want to keep Fido stuck in the apartment complexes dog zone for three nights in a row. It’s not until you walk outside of the apartment’s block that you think of what a bad idea it is for you to be out so late. This part was relatively safe. That wasn’t the issue. You were just paranoid. Every tree became an assailant and every car held a gunman. Your free had was buried deep in your purse, fingers wrapped around the small stun gun that you carried everywhere. Even Fido seemed particularly alert.

You cut the walk short by a couple of blocks and turn around to walk back to the apartments. The grip you have on the taser loosens ever so slightly when you step onto the pavement of the apartment parking lot. 

In a fraction of a second the taser is ripped out of your purse. A man hiding in the shadows of the apartment building steps forward directly towards you. Your purse is lying beside you abandoned along with Fido’s leash. Fido growls beside you with his hackles raised.

In response the man’s hands immediately raise into the air. “Shh Shh shh. I’m not gonna hurt you.” At the sound of his voice, Fido runs to the man’s side. You scowl at the dog, a feeling of betray causing the blood to rise to your face.

For some reason Fido recognized this guy. Maybe he was one of the guys who raised him to be a fight dog. While Fido excitedly jumped in place at the man’s side, the shadowy figure slowly dropped to his knees with his hands still in the air.

“(Y/N) it’s me. It’s Frank. I’m not here to attack you.” Suddenly you could recognize your friend’s voice past your frantic heart beats.

“Oh Frank.” You drop your hands and bend swiftly to stuff the taser back into your purse. You rush over to where Frank is now hunched over on the ground. When he doesn’t look up to meet your approach you know something is wrong.

You drop to your knees in front of him and he finally looks up at you. Your faces are inches away and you can see the painting of bruises on his cheekbones. You pull your attention away from his battered face to the bright red spot spreading across the thigh of his jeans. He covers the spot with a hand. Whether it’s to keep you from looking, or to stop the bleeding you aren’t sure.

“Didn’t want to show up to your apartment without a proper warning, but uhh…” You glances down at the blood seeping between his fingers. “You’re the only person who probably wouldn’t shoot me right now.”

It’s obvious that whatever injury Frank is dealing with is excruciatingly painful, but he’s also trying to make light of the situation.

You don’t know what to say, so instead you throw one of Frank’s arms over your shoulders and settle yourself under the man’s weight. “Well then I guess we should get you upstairs. The landlord should be asleep so no one should ask any questions.”

Frank lets out a small laugh. “Never woulda guessed you knew how to sneak around.” The two of you stand up in tandem. You support very little of his weight and you suspect he’s bearing the brunt of the pain because he didn’t want to burden you.

“Would you lean against me? You’re not going to crush me.” He grumbles reluctantly, but slowly lets you support most of his weight. With Fido dragging his leash behind you, the two of you slowly walk to your apartment. For some reason the elevators lull Frank into a half sleep and you spend the ride with the man’s head resting on yours. You jostle him awake with a strict demand to stay awake until he stopped bleeding.

When you get inside your apartment the entire left leg of his jeans was stained a deep red. You drop Frank on the couch and rush around the house, gathering whatever looked like it could be used as a medical supply. You return to the living room carrying a bowl of hot water, a stack of wash clothes and towels, a half full bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and some medical tape that had someone travelled with you through all of your moves. Frank already had his injured leg propped on your coffee table and he was cutting away at the ruined jeans with a pocket knife. You drop all of the stuff on the coffee table and run to grab a pair of scissors. He takes them from you wordlessly and quickly finishes cutting the cloth.

The injury was even more gruesome then you could have expected. It was very clearly a bullet wound and it was deep. “Frank you need to go to the hospital right now.” You get up to pull him off the couch, but he shoos you away.

“I can’t go to the hospital. This isn’t the worst injury I’ve had.”

“I can’t stitch, Frank. And this needs stitches.” He reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small tin box. He throws it onto the coffee table. You snatch the box up and open it. Inside is a coil of medical silk. The kind they use for stitches.

“You don’t have to. I can. What I need you to do is pour that bottle of peroxide into the bowl.”

“With the water?”

“No ditch the water.” His eyebrows shoot up when you fling the water onto the carpet a few feet away and quickly refill the bowl with the chemical. “I admire the improvisation, but I’m not dying.” You shoot him a look that tells him you think otherwise. He drops it and goes back to instructing you while getting his own stuff ready. He puts a washcloth between his teeth.

“So you don’t want the peroxide in the bullet wound right? Just around it.”

“Yes ma’am. Unless you want me to start screaming.” His voice is muffled by the fabric between his teeth.

You soak a clean cloth in the hydrogen peroxide and start gently cleaning the wound. You have to take a few breaks to gag into your elbow or take a breath away from the blood. Frank is kind enough not to mention it. Actually Frank is falling asleep. You grab desperately onto his arm when his head falls back against the back of the couch. Your nails sinking into the skin of his arms jerks him awake.

“Sorry I’m awake. I’m not dying.”

“Good to know because I don’t want to have the cops in my house again.” He chuckles dryly at this.

“All right it’s clean enough. I need to stitch it before my hands get too shaky.” He grabs the needle connected the silk and replaces the wash cloth between his teeth. You try to watch how he stitches the wound, but the moment he forces the needle through his skin you have to walk away.

For a few seconds your vision blurs and your head feels like a cloud, but it only takes a few seconds for the feeling to subside. Once you feel steady you move around the coffee table, cleaning away the bloody washcloths and the bowl filled with red water. While you run the blood stained washcloths under freezing water, you hear a loud groan come from the living room.

“You good in there?” You call behind you, secretly praying you wouldn’t have to go back at look at the mess of flesh.

“Peachy.” The words are barely intelligible, but the answer makes you smile a little. You faintly hear the tin box fall against the wooden coffee table. You leave the cold water running over the washcloths and return to the living room.

Frank is wrapping a copious amount of medical table around a washcloth positioned so that you can no longer see the injury. When the cloth is sufficiently in place, Frank yanks the washcloth out of his mouth and leans heavily on the back of the couch. There’s little color in his face and you can see a tremor in his hands.

“Thanks for the help.”

You sit down on the coffee table beside his foot. “I feel like I didn’t do anything.”

“You carried me up here and then you gagged into your elbow for thirty minutes. That’s something.” There’s a playful quirk to his mouth that makes you want to throw one of the clean washcloths at him. But your worry for him quickly flushes out the momentary jovial feeling. He sees the small smile leave your face and his own drops too.

“I should go.” He starts to get up from the couch, but you’re much quicker. You place a hand on his chest and firmly push him back onto the couch.

“Are you stupid? You just stitched up your own leg. You’re not going anywhere.”

He looks confused by the change in demeanor. “You looked like you didn’t want me here.”

“No! I’m just kind of terrified! I haven’t seen you in like a month and then you show up with a hole in your leg. It’s all just a little more exciting than my average evening.”

Gradually the vigilante relaxes back into the couch. You both watch each other for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out what the other person is feeling. In the back of your mind your good bye a month ago plays on repeat, but you’re not willing to bring it up.

When the silence becomes too much you move away from the living room towards your linen closet. You grab one of your extra blankets from the top shelf and bring it back to Frank. He takes it from you with a soft thank you. You sit back down on the coffee table and prepare yourself to ask something that Frank isn’t going to answer easily.

Apparently your drawn eyebrows give away your concentration. “All right. What’re you going to ask?” He looks about as happy as expected.

“For some kind of explanation maybe? You can’t expect me to just accept the fact that you’re shot in the leg without asking some questions.”

He rubs a hand across his face. “Well you want my life story or what?” The tone of his voice has hardened and there’s a new stiffness in his body.

“No. You can be as vague as you want. I just want to understand. That’s all.” The man lets out a long sigh and the two of you sit in silence again. Eventually though he starts talking.

Even though he seemed defensive about it, he ended up going into a lot of detail. He struggles to maintain his composure. Sometimes his knuckles turn white when he clutches the glass of water that you brought him. He tells you about his family, about first becoming the Punisher, being in jail, and all the blood he’s spilled. He explains how he’s been checking on you every now and again and why he was injured tonight. When he’s finished you don’t know what to say. Your first instinct is to say you’re sorry for all the horrible stuff he’s had to live through, but he wouldn’t appreciate it. Everyone says sorry.

“Thanks. For trusting me enough to tell me all of that.” He doesn’t answer verbally, just hums. You wait for a few more seconds before abruptly standing from the coffee table.

“Well I’m exhausted so I’m heading to bed. I’ll make breakfast in the morning since it’s a Saturday. And I expect you to be there to enjoy my wonderful cooking skills so don’t try to sneak out.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

He slowly moves his legs so that he’s laying across the couch. Fido is laying on his bed in your room when you close the door. He’d been stressed out by the commotion and hadn’t come out of your room since Frank’s arrival. You kneel beside him and give him a reassuring scratch behind the ears. When you slide into bed you try not to dwell too long on the man that was sleeping on your couch. You would deal with it further in the morning.


	9. Chapter 9

You open your bedroom door to hear the soft noise of Frank’s snoring. You shuffle out of your room still in last night’s PJs. Frank sleeps with one of his arms thrown over his eyes and his mouth wide open. It’s an endearing image and you find yourself watching him breath for a few seconds before moving on to the kitchen. You begin preparing breakfast, careful to make as little noise as possible. You’ve gotten the eggs and milk out of the fridge when Fido trots his way into the kitchen. You try to gather the rest of your ingredients before feeding him, but the dog impatiently presses his nose against your knees.

You give the dog a playful annoyed look and drag the large bag of dog food out of the lower cabinet. Unfortunately there is no quiet way to scoop dog food and the snoring coming from the living room stops abruptly. The food rings against the metal bowl and the sound of Fido’s ravenous eating habits fills the silence of the apartment. While the dog inhales his food, you return to collecting what you need to make breakfast. You’re not surprised when you hear Frank’s uneven footsteps coming from the living room.

“Frank you shouldn’t be walking!” you yell behind your shoulder. There’s a slim chance that he’ll actually take your advice, but it’s worth a try. The steps don’t stop until they’re in the doorway to the kitchen.

You turn your head so that you can see the man leaning groggily against the door frame, his eyes are half opened and there’s a wrinkle in his nose from his squinting.

“Good morning sleeping beauty.” You tease. “I’m making scrambled eggs and bacon so I hope you like a traditional American breakfast.”

“I could eat an entire cow right now.” Frank’s voice is no more than a mumbled mess and you don’t catch half of what he says.

“You sound like you should sleep for another three years.”

You let the eggs on the stove sit on the hot burner and turn to face the man behind you. His ragged ensemble of clothing forces a giggle out of your chest.

“What’re you laughing at?” You can’t tell if the man is squinting at you or glaring at you.

“Wow someone’s not a morning person at all.” You let a few more chuckles escape your mouth before you explain yourself with a smile. “You’re sitting in the doorway of my kitchen wearing jeans with only one leg. And then on the leg without the pant leg you have a washcloth tapped to your leg. It’s a funny image. I wish you could see it.”

“Yeah I’m sure it’s freakin’ hilarious.”

You try not to take the grumpy man too seriously, but you feel a little bad for teasing him after such a rough night. “I’m just joking around, Frank. I didn’t mean to make you mad.” You turn back around to attend to the nearly finished eggs.

Fido licks his chops and trots over to Frank. The man’s focus moves to the dog’s waiting gaze. Frank sighs heavily. “You’re right. I’m an asshole in the morning.” Slowly, using the doorway as support, he lowers himself to the ground. His legs, spread out in front of him, block the kitchen door. You turn your head to see the gleeful reunion of Fido and Frank. Fido is dancing happily with his tongue hanging sideways out of his mouth and there’s a small smile on Frank’s face.

With a content smile you divide the eggs between two plates and grab two forks from one of your drawers. You carry the food over to the reunion party and sit down beside Frank. You pass him his plate and settle back against the wood cabinets. Other than a quiet thank you from Frank, the two of you eat in silence. You have to silently push Fido away from your food every few minutes, but it’s peaceful. The night before feels like a faraway nightmare, and you’re not sure if you should bring the events into the present situation.

Maybe later.

You set your empty plate beside you and let Fido lick the ceramic clean. Frank does the same and then leans back against the doorframe, closing his eyes. When he doesn’t move for a few seconds, you watch his face, wondering if he had fallen asleep again. Frank’s eyes snap open and instantly focus on your curious eyes.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

“I was just wondering if you had fallen asleep!” you try to defend yourself while your cheeks turn dark pink.

You rush to your feet, taking the empty plates with you. You dump them in the sink and start running the hot water. While you scrub the dishes clean, Frank plays gently with Fido, rubbing the dog’s stomach when he lays down on the ground.

The city noises from the outside seep through the walls of your apartment and mix in with the sounds of the water sloshing against the sides of the sink and Fido’s dog tags clinking against each other. If you ignored the fact that Frank had a hole in his leg, the image was endearingly domestic.

“So uh…we gunna ignore the fact that I destroyed your apartment and then kissed you or should we talk it out.” The scene is brutally destroyed by Frank’s interruption.

“Well it wasn’t you who destroyed my apartment. It was the assholes who tried to kill me.”

Frank lets out an unimpressed hum at your attempt to avoid the conversation. He doesn’t attempt to bring it up again and an awkward silence takes over the kitchen. You move the clean dishes onto the drying rack and shut the water off. You tap your fingers against the counter rapidly, trying to decide how to approach the situation. Obviously it was something that bothered Frank or he wouldn’t be talking about it but…

“This is going to be a really awkward question.” The only response you get from Frank is his hands dropping away from Fido’s head. “But…this relationship that exists between us…I mean you lost your entire family and I’d understand if you never wanted a romantic relationship again, but I guess I just need to know. Where our friendship is going to go.” Half way through the question you turn around to face him. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze.

There’s a few seconds of silence where you can see his jaw move through his possible answers. “I don’t know what to tell ya. Honestly, I’ve been denying any friendly feelings I’ve had since I lost everything. I’m as confused as you.”

It’s not the kind of answer you want. You were hoping for a definitive answer. One that you could rely on in any future situations. Now you know that both of you were probably going to dance around the subject for years.

“Ok well…We’ll figure it out. Or I guess you’ll figure it out. I kinda already know how I feel about… all of this.” You cut your comment abruptl y and stand away from the counter. “I’m going to go get dressed and I’ll try to find something for you to wear. Are you going to be able to get up?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” His eyes are cast to the ground, staring blindly at the linoleum.

You try not to pause for too long before stepping over his legs and making your way to your bedroom. You take your time taking a hot shower and getting dressed. You have to call in to work and tell your boss that you had a personal emergency. You were already late for the day and your boss was desperate to know what was going on. You told him that an old friend got very hurt and you had to help him for a little while. Your boss didn’t sound very convinced, but he told you to take off as much time as you needed. The genuine concern in his voice causes a deep seated feeling of guilt to develop in your chest. You promise yourself that you’ll work extra hard when you finally get back to your routine.

You rustle through your drawers trying to find clothes that you had borrowed from past relationships. When you find a pair of large grey sweatpants at the bottom of your pants drawers you let out a breath of relief. At least now you wouldn’t have to make a trip to the store and the loose fabric wouldn’t be too irritating to Frank’s injury.

You walk out of your room holding the grey sweatpants triumphantly. “I knew I had something that would fit you.” Frank has stood up and is propped against the couch so his bad leg isn’t supporting any of his weight. He has a flip phone in his hand which he promptly puts down when you appear in the living room.

“Wow a flip phone. Didn’t know they made those anymore.”

“The cheaper the phone. The more I can throw away. The harder I am to track.”

“Makes sense.” You take a couple steps towards the man and hand over the sweatpants. “The bathroom is the door on the right. You can use whatever you want. When you’re done we’ll go get a real lunch. I’m sure you’re still hungry after getting shot and then having to stitch yourself up.”

Frank turns to you sharply. “No I can’t.”

“Afraid your enemies are going to find you? There are a lot of people in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m sure a small disguise will be enough to keep you hidden. The limp might be a bit of a giveaway though.”

“No that’s not it.” Frank interrupts you in exasperation. “I don’t care if my enemies find me. If they do, so what? I fight them. It happens all the time. But what about if you’re there. I can’t watch two backs at once.”

You crossed your arms. There was no good way for you to argue that you could take care of yourself. Maybe you could fend off a normal mugger, but the people that Frank fought were actual killers. You’d be decimated if you ever had the misfortune of meeting them.

After a moment of thought you uncross your arms and place your hands on your hips. “Well then I guess we’ll just have to be extra careful. Go get dressed and we’ll figure it out.”

Frank’s eyebrows furrow and the two of you look at each other for several seconds before he finally looks away with a shake of his head and deep breath. “You know the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

You nod your head. Everyone knew who Daredevil was.

Frank looks back at you. “You remind me of him.” You suppose that he’s supposed to be walking in a huff, but his injury makes him appear weak.

The door to the bathroom clicks shut and you hear the shower turn on. Frank’s phone buzzes where it lays on the top of the couch. Your natural curiosity forces you to grab the phone and look at the screen. It’s an unidentified number with a generic text. Not the exciting secret message you were expecting. You set the phone on the coffee table and start to prepare for your outing.


	10. Chapter 10

You and Frank are the only pair walking on the sidewalk. It’s the middle of spring but the sky is overcast and a faint drizzle sticks to your rain jacket. Frank wears an old baseball cap that you’ve had stuffed in the back of a closet. He’s foregone wearing the sunglasses you offered him so you can see a faint black eye he always seems to sport.

The café you arrive at is set away from the street with no sign to indicate its existence. The only reason you know about it is because one of your work friends has a sibling that works there. The inside is rustic with wooden floors, wooden chairs, and distressed menus. There’s only one other person sitting in the café when you walk through the door. Frank leads you to the table closest to the exit at the back of the café. You immediately pick up the menu and start scanning it while Frank watches the workers move in and out of the kitchen. A small girl with black hair takes your drink orders and breezes through the specials of the day. The entire time Frank avoids making eye contact and hardly looks up from his menu.

“For someone who’s on the run literally all the time, you’re really bad at blending in,” you mutter after the girl leaves the table

Frank gives you a tired look. “Normally I don’t eat in public.”

You shrug. “You need something substantial to eat and I don’t have anything back at the apartment. Besides this is hardly public. There’s like five people in the entire building. We’ll be fine.”

Frank growls but doesn’t say anything else. The waitress returns and sets down the drinks you ordered. Frank immediately takes a swig of the black coffee he ordered. Steam is still curling off the top when he sets it back on the table.

“Do you just not have pain receptors anymore or something. Because I’m pretty sure if I went anywhere near that coffee I would burn my tongue,” you joke before blowing gently on your own drink.

Frank smiles and licks his lips. “Years of drinking hot coffee will do that.”

Frank orders the largest sandwich on the menu and you order a simple soup. As soon as the waitress disappears you lean across the table to get closer to Frank.

“So where are you going to go after this?”

Frank’s eyebrows furrow together. “After lunch or what do you mean?”

“Well like.” You gesture uselessly while you try to formulate what you’re thinking. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the company but I don’t think it would be the best idea for you to stay with me for much longer.”

“I’ll be gone by the end of the day don’t worry.”

“So you know where you’re going?”

“Not exactly.” 

“So you’re just going to roam around the streets with a bullet room?”

Frank shrugs. “I’ve done it before.”

“Well what about your last apartment. Can’t you just get a new one so you have somewhere to go?”

“It would lead to too many issues. I can find an empty building to hole up in. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m a natural born worrier. Well wherever you end up come back and visit. Didn’t really appreciate the disappearance act last time.”

The waiter returns to your table carrying your soup and Frank’s sandwich. She sets the plates in front of you. You let the conversation die while the two of you eat. You take small sips of your soup, but Frank eats quickly. By the time you eat your last spoon full, Frank has been sitting silently for ten minutes.

“Was the sandwich good?” you ask hoping you hadn’t brought him somewhere with horrible sandwiches.

“Very good. You know where to get good food.”

“To be honest it’s because I don’t cook for myself very often. If I’m going to eat out it better be good.”

Frank smiles and leans back in his chair. You push away from the table, putting your napkin next to your bowl.

“I’ll be right back.”

“If you don’t come back in five minutes I’m going in to look for you.”

You laugh lightly at what you assume is a joke, but Frank’s face is obscured by his coffee mug and you can’t tell if he’s actually joking.

The bathroom is tucked behind a false wall at the opposite side of the café. You pass the man who has been sitting at a table since you and Frank arrived. He busies himself with a newspaper and doesn’t pay you any attention. The bathroom door shuts behind you with a resounding thud.

The man drops his newspaper to the table and pull a phone out of his jacket pocket. He types out a quick message before tucking the phone back into his pocket and picking up the newspaper.

Back in the bathroom you wash your hands and examine yourself in the mirror. Besides dark circles under your eyes, there’s no way to tell that the night before you were fixing a bullet wound. Behind you the door to the bathroom opens. You watch through the mirror as a woman a couple years older than you walks into the bathroom. Scars litter her face and arms and you can see the faint outline of a gun in her back pocket. You try to tell yourself that plenty of people carry weapons with them, but you can’t help the stiffening of your muscles.

The woman stands in front of the sink next to yours and turns on the faucet to the highest pressure. The phone she puts on the counter next to her buzzes. Without warning the woman reaches over and grabs a handful of your hair. Before you can scream a hand clamps down on your mouth and nose. You claw at the woman’s fingers, trying to pry them away from your nose. Your chest starts to burn from lack of oxygen.

In a panic you bring your foot to the counter top and push against the woman. The force of your push loosens her grip on your nose and you take in a needed breath. Before you can continue your thrashing, the woman digs something out of her back pocket. A sharp pain radiates through your neck and you yelp in pain. The woman fully releases the grip on your hair. You take a deep breath to scream for help, but the room starts spinning so badly that you lose your breath. You grip the counter for support and push yourself towards the door. Your hands collide with the door and the door swings open. Instead of falling into the main room of the café you run into the chest of the man who was reading the newspaper. He grips you roughly by the shoulders and pushes you back into the bathroom.

The push sends you straight to ground and you have no stability to push yourself back up. The edges of your vision start to darken and it’s too much effort to lift your head from the cold tile.

Outside in the restaurant Frank glances at the clock. A full seven minutes have passed since you walked into the bathroom. Frank stands from the table and purposefully walks across the restaurant. Initially, he was joking about going to the bathroom after you, but seven minutes was excessive.

Before barging into the bathroom, Frank bangs on the wooden door. There is no answer. When the door opens the bathroom is completely empty. The two faucets are still running and there are puddles of water on the ground. Frank lets out a heavy breath as everything he feared comes to life. You were gone and he knew it was because of him. He storms through the bathroom, throwing open stall doors and looking for any sign of who took you. At the back of the room was a window that at first looked closed, but when Frank got closer he could see a small crack between the window and the sill.

Frank pushes the window up and pulls himself through. His feet land next to two pairs of footprints in the dirt. There are fresh tire marks that curve around the restaurant and disappear onto the pavement. Frank clenches his jaw and watches the cars that pass in front of him. You could be in the trunk of a car right in front of him or a car halfway across the city.

Lucky for Frank he knew who his enemies were. And he knew exactly where they were. He would tear apart every crime circle in Hell’s Kitchen to find out who had taken you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where most of the violence is. Just a heads up there are a lot of descriptions of violence and death.

The first thing you feel is a sharp pain pulsing through your entire skull. Your eyes feel like lead but you flutter them open. The room around you is a blur and your eyes close. You keep your eyes closed for a few more seconds before attempting to open them again. This time the images you see are more distinct. You’re in a freezer, surrounded by rotting meat. Despite the rancid smell, the air around you is frigid. The second thing you see is the cloud of air that escapes your lips. The air burns your throat and your lungs as you breath. Your eyes drift shut again and you let them rest there for a while.

You rack your brain for any memories of the past few hours. Why were you in a meat freezer? And why were your arms tied to the chair? You force your eyes open again and focus on what is in front of you. You can just make out the large metal door at the front of the room. It’s a few yards away from you. Way too far for you to shuffle to it. Your head rolls to the side of its own volition and for a few seconds you look at the world sideways.

The last thing you remember is going to the bathroom after eating with Frank. And then there was nothing but panic. You can’t remember who attacked you or what they attacked you with. And probably the worst realization of all was that no one knew where you were. The only person who would even know you were missing was Frank.

You take a deep breath to delay the panic rising in your chest. Frank would find you. He was literally the most feared person in Hell’s Kitchen. There’s no way your captors weren’t already on his radar. You take a second, deep breath. Your heart beat is finally slowing to a normal speed when the handle of the door rattles. It immediately feels like your heart is stuck in your throat.

The door swings open and the light blinds you. Your oversensitive eyes burn but you force them to remain open. The figure backlight in the doorway is un-intimidating and skinny. The figure steps further into the freezer slowly revealing the pinched face of a man in an expensive suit. He wastes no time with introductions, choosing to skip right to the part where he roughly grabs your chin and yanks your head upwards.

“Do you know why you’re here, small one?”

The man’s voice is laced with an accent that you don’t recognize. Your voice catches in your throat and no matter how hard you try you can’t get any words out. 

Bothered by your lack of response his grip on your chin tightens. “I asked you a question.”

“No, I don’t know,” you force out in a raspy voice.

“I think you do know.” The man pats your cheek and straightens up. “It does not matter. Your friend will show up and rescue you or you will freeze. Both options are good.”

The man turns his back to you and leaves the freezer in silence. The door clangs shut behind him and you’re reminded of how cold the freezer truly is. You wiggle your fingers and toes in an effort to delay being frozen. So far everything was still working, but you had no idea how long that would last.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A black truck idles across the street from the five-star restaurant known as the Shooting Star. Rain falls from the sky in sheets obscuring the view of the hotel slightly. Frank grabs at the paper cup of coffee in the median and takes the final gulp. Brand new gashes crisscross his arms and face and his nose has a brand new twist. But it was worth it. All the pain in the world would have been worth it because finally he was only a few yards away from you. Somewhere in that restaurant you were being held and no amount of injuries would keep Frank from finding you.

It was a trap. How much more obvious could it be. No ransom message or threatening videos. The gang in control of the eatery was waiting. They were waiting to die.

Frank shoves the door of the truck open and steps into the downpour. He’s immediately soaked, but it makes no difference. The gun in his hands is already loaded and the safety is off. He’s an intimidating figure. Actually, he’s horrifying. The sight of him sends the greeter, the valet, and the unarmed guards sprinting for cover.

“Everyone out!” Frank’s voice rattles the wine glasses on the tables, but the stampede of innocent customers properly destroys the dining area.

The first of the guards rounds the corner and meet a merciless death. Several men writhe on the ground as Frank carelessly steps over them. One of the men desperately grasps at Frank’s ankle but the only response he receives is a swift kick to the face. The door to the kitchen is a few feet away, but the possibility of what waits on the other side causes Frank to pause. If he messes up, if he has a single misstep both himself and you would be dead. Frank couldn’t give two shits about his own life. He’s done his work. But the thought of you dying is disgusting. It wouldn’t happen.

Frank steps through the swinging kitchen door into the sights of dozens of assault rifles. The man that commands the underlings is nowhere to be seen.

“You’re making the biggest fucking mistake of your life.” Frank’s voice is low and only the front row of men can make out his words.

One of the men feels brave and decides to speak back to the most dangerous man in New York. “Oh yeah. You’re fucking surrounded what’re you gonna–”

Frank’s hand snaps up and a single bullet flies through the air. It passes clean through the chest cavity of one of the men and lodges itself into the gas canister under one of the stoves. Fire erupts from the canister, igniting the canister next to it. The resulting chain reaction swallows half of the kitchen in a wall of fire. The screaming of the burning men can be heard by the cowering crowd outside. The light of the fire reflects off of Frank’s eyes as he unleashes an entire clip of bullets into the men that are still standing. Pools of blood gather around Frank’s shoes. The fire continues to eat into the building, but the path towards the freezer is open. If you were going to be anywhere, that’s where you would be.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Your fingers were stiff from the cold and you couldn’t feel your toes. In fact it felt like your feet had been replaced by bricks. You felt tired and you stopped shivering hours ago. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer in the cold. Your eyes are fluttering shut when the door to the freezer opens. Your breath catches in your throat and you look up in the hope that Frank finally showed up. Your heart drops when the figure in front of you is small and scrawny.

“Your friend has finally arrived to his death.” As if to support his statement the muffled sound of gunshots floats through the freezer walls. “But don’t worry, I’ll let you see his body one last time before you’re disposed of.”

The sound of gunshots increases and for a moment you believe the man in front of you. You were going to die. A boom rattles the hinges of the door and the man in front of you whips around to stare. His confidence disappears instantly. If you were warm enough to talk you’d have an amazing sarcastic comment to make. The sound of bullets raining against the door of the freezer reverberates around the room in a deafening cacophony. And then there’s silence.

Seconds pass as you wait in hopeful anticipation that your savior will finally walk through the doors. Slowly the door swings open and light spreads across the floor. This time the figure cast in shadow is broad and the most beautiful sight you’ve seen. A sob wrenches itself out of your lungs and tears gather at the corners of your eyes. The small mobster scrambles to put you in between himself and Frank but it’s useless. It only takes three steps for Frank to be in front of you. In a blur Frank’s arm lashes out and latches onto the mobster. Frank wrenches him into the air as if he’s nothing more than a child. The mobster is thrown roughly to the ground and Frank’s heavy boot planted firmly to his chest keeps him there. 

“Y/N shut your eyes.”

In that moment you know what’s going to happen. You know what Frank does, but suddenly your terrified for what’s about to happen.

“Frank, I…”

“I said, shut your eyes.” Frank commands with no room for argument.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Almost immediately the crash of the gun assaults your ears. You want to clench your fists and cry but you can’t. Eerie silence envelops you, but you keep your eyes screwed shut even when a pair of hands gently unties your own. Tears leak down onto your cheeks as the full realization of your situation hits you. You were being saved and there was an overwhelming sense of relief but at the same time there was a man dead on the ground in front of you. You can’t see him, but he’s there.

The ropes drop from your wrists and ankles. You can’t open your eyes. And it’s not because your tears are frozen to your face. Frank gently wraps his arms around you and lifts you from the chair. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, reveling in the feeling of his warmth. You don’t know how Frank gets out of the restaurant, but it feels like very little time passes before he’s setting you down in the seat of a car. Even as the engine starts you keep your eyes closed. The made up imagine of the mobster’s body dances across your eyelids.

The drive is long, but finally the car slows to a gentle stop. You open your eyes. You’re in front of your home. Frank opens your door and moves to pick you up again. Your feet still feel like lead so you don’t protest. You wrap your arms around his neck and stay silent through the climb up to your place. The door to your apartment hangs open already and seeing the inside of your home brings a new set of tears to your eyes. Everything is destroyed. The stuffing of the couch is spread across the ground. Pieces of ceramic litter the kitchen counters and the coffee table is in pieces.

“Where’s Fido?” is the first thing you say since being rescued.

A sad whine comes from your bedroom and the sound of nails frantically scratching against the wood follows. Frank has to do some maneuvering to open the door without dropping you, but he manages. Fido shoots out of the bedroom with his hackles raised and a deep growl rolling out of his chest, but the tough façade is dropped immediately when he recognizes you and Frank. The pitbull becomes a wiggling puppy again but the sad whines that escape his muzzle hint at the anxiety he feels at the injuries both of his humans have.

Frank carries you into your room and lies you on your bed. Your pillows have been destroyed but the mattress seems untouched. Frank disappears for a few minutes, but Fido quickly takes his place and hops on the bed to be next to you. You bury your half frozen hands into his fur. The relief is immediate.

Frank returns carrying several wet rags. He tenderly wraps them around your feet. You don’t understand what the point is until an uncomfortable tingling sensation returns to your feet.

“I ran them under the hot water.” Frank says quietly. 

“Thank you. It doesn’t feel good but any feeling is better than no feeling.”

Your sad excuse for a joke has zero effect on the man and he continues staring into space with a deep crease between his eyebrows. He stands from your bed, but your hand lashes out and grasps the end of his shirt.

“Where are you going?” you ask with wide eyes.

“To go get you some warm food.” He glances back at you and sees the anxiety written across your face.

He moves back to your side and kneels next to the bed so that he’s almost eye level with you. “I’m not leaving you. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you again.”


End file.
